Assassin's Creed: Stories from the Animus
by thedamnkeys
Summary: A collection of short stories and one-shots following several of Desmond's ancestors  other than Ezio and Altair  and various other Assassins.


A woman's head dangled limply, long, wavy brown hair covering her face. She was unconscious and had been tied to a chair with thick ropes around her ankles hours before as the men around her decided what to do with her. Her wrists were bound together as well behind the back of the chair at an uncomfortable angle. One of her braids, knotted with red string and a triangular bead at the end, swayed with the rocking motion of the ship.

"Solamente es una pirata," one said as he stroked his goatee in thought. His face was lined with deep wrinkles and he donned a deep tan like the rest of the crew. They had been at sea for months but they were used to it. It was their life.

"Nunca sabeis quien podra ser," the other replied sternly. He was younger, true, but he was more experienced than most of the crew. He was clean-shaven with nape-length neatly combed hair parted down the middle. His expression was caught somewhere between disgust at this pirate woman, with her baubles, trinkets and stolen men's clothes, and concern. "Mira, aqui se queda y si se leventa y empieza con preguntas, vos la matamos. Vamos, tenemos cosas que hacer."

The man with the goatee nodded at the captain and followed him out, their dark blue coats swishing behind them as they turned on their heels and headed upstairs to the deck.

The woman's eyes fluttered briefly as she groaned quietly. The men, at the same moment, turned to look: she was coming to. The captain signaled for the other man to go on ahead without him and doubled back to the bound woman. The trap door closed quietly.

She looked up at him with her right hazel eye as her left was partially swollen from a punch to the face. "Don't touch me," she hissed at the captain who began to push her red bandanna away from her eyes, especially the piece that doubled over down the center of her forehead, reaching the bridge of her slightly hooked nose.

"Mm, English," he said in an accent.

"Mm, yeah," she mocked, curling her scarred lips. "Where's my hat?"

"Under lock and key," he replied. "I am Captain Suarez, but you know this already."

"Who doesn't? Your men shout it like it's the bloody market. I'm sure the dead could 'ear 'em too."

Suarez narrowed his eyes at the woman. "You use an interesting color choice, pirate. White and red."

"Yea', what's it to ya? Clothes are clothes, mate."

"I assume you stole them from a captain of another ship?"

"What's it to ya?" she answered again. "Ever occur to you that I _am_ a proper captain of a proper ship? You see my vest, yeah, means I'm a captain like you."

"Pirate ships are not proper ships," Suarez said coolly. "And women are not proper captains. You ruin lives."

She threw her head back and laughed loudly. "You're a real joker, aren't ya? Yeah, we're so scary we ruin lives. You ain't doin' no better, bombing ships left and right, Spaniard."

Suarez grinned. "You believe you are, what is the word… entitled to the sea, yes?"

"Free waters, innit?"

"Not anymore, pirate." He punched her fast across her right check, making sure his gold ring bearing mother of pearl and a ruby-encrusted cross connected to her flesh.

"Wooh!" she shouted. "Yeah, didn't expect that one. I think you did more damage to your ring than you did to me."

He punched her again indiscriminately. "You do not deserve mercy for attacking and attempting to steal the goods off my ship."

She looked up and searched the ceiling in thought. "Oh! You think – that's absolutely precious, darlin'. Really. See, I really want only _one_ thing from this bloody ship."

The captain rolled his eyes. "What would that be?"

"The Apple." Her arms flung out, knives jutting out from her gauntlets and the torn rope falling to the floor. She grabbed the captain by the belt and repeatedly stabbed him in the stomach as more and more blood began to bubble from his mouth and the gaping wounds.

Suarez fell forward as he clutched his stomach and gave her a look of absolute contempt and disgust. "Assessina," he hissed. "I knew there was something about you."

She grabbed him by the collar of his shirt, grinning wildly. "Next time, sweetheart." An instant later, her blade had cut through his throat. "Rest in peace," she said to the bloody corpse, laying it down gently. She began to cut away at the ropes around her ankles with her hidden blades. When she stood up, she flexed her wrists and flicked the blades back into their places. The Assassin picked up the captain's body and sat him on the chair. Once he was seated to her liking, she pulled out her necklace that had several small white and brown feathers hanging from them. She wiped some of Suarez's blood across the edge of one of the feathers and hid her necklace once more.

She smoothed out her brown pants and fixed the white and red-striped linen sash across her waist, making sure the mark of the Assassin stitched at the bottom of the end of the sash was visible.

The woman began to walk up the stairs, carefully and just barely opening the trap door over her head. The sky was black overhead, speckled with stars and rolling clouds. The moon was a quarter way. Damn it. She was outnumbered, but that wasn't the issue: they were all armed with guns and rifles. All she had were her hidden blades.

"Well, a challenge's always good," she said to herself with a light shrug. She climbed out and snapped behind a series of crates and barrels lined haphazardly next to the ship's mast. Two crewmen passed across and immediately she stabbed them through the back of their necks with her blades over the crates and dragged them to her side. She cursed when she realized they were simply gruntmen and not actually armed. Damn them.

Something sharp and cold dug into the back of neck, pulling down her popped collar. "Arnette Hawthorne," the man holding the bayonet said when he saw the edge of her feather tattoo creeping up to her neck. "We have heard much about you."

She studied the man with short black hair and a thick beard. He was scarred across the cheek and wore clothing more akin to a simple seaman instead of a captain. She noticed that he also wore a Templar ring. "So _you're_ the real Suarez."

"Grand how information can be so easily manipulated, no?"

"The Templar way t'do it, yeah?"

"Get up."

Arnette stood up slowly, hands up and blades away. The edges of her sleeves were soaked in blood as were her fingers. More Spaniards began to circle her, some pointing pistols and rifles, others pointing swords at her. "Now, now, I'm sure we can resolve this peacefully, yeah?"

"You killed two of my men," Suarez said.

"Killed your imposter," she reminded him.

Suarez grunted. "You did me a favor, Assassin."

"Then do me a favor and 'and me the Apple, Templar. I'll spare the lot their lives and I'll even let ya go free."

The captain laughed heartily and the others joined in like it was a cue. "We have you trapped here, Arnette Hawthorne, you cannot escape, much less win."

It was her turn to laugh. "You think you 'ave _me_ trapped? Ha."

From behind, one of the men with a sword lunged at her. She heard the scuffle of his feet and easily sidestepped, hitting the back of his neck with the edge of her hand. She kicked the back of his knees in, causing him to buckle, then followed up the blow by slamming his face into the floor.

An eagle cried out overhead and circled serenely, landing on the railing of the poop deck. Arnette grinned. "It's me that's got ya trapped."

"Matenla!" Suarez shouted.

The two men that flanked Arenette's sides met with the ends of her blade in their throats. Another man ran towards her holding a pistol and aiming at her head. At the sound of the crack, Arnette guarded herself with one of the corpses and threw it towards her shooter, tripping him up.

One shirtless man with a sword stepped in and feigned a right lunge but instead elbowed her in the stomach. She was winded and struggled to catch her breath. He attacked again, this time bringing his sword above her head with one hand. Arenette blocked with her left arm and the blade of the sword slid across her leather-and-metal gauntlet, kicking him hard in the groin then jamming her blade into his throat.

"Damn you bloody Spanish rats, will you not die already?" she shouted angrily as more Templars began to fall in. She stomped her boot against the floor, causing a small but sharp knife to snap out. With it, she kicked a Templar across the throat and slit his throat without even blinking. Another came in close but she quickly punched him across the jaw then followed up with a kick to the stomach. She took one of the man's arms, swung it behind his chest and disarmed him, killing him with his own sword. The sword made its way through legs and arms and into heads, never resting, always in motion.

The eagle overhead squawked once more and even louder than before.

Moments later, a squadron of white-clad Assassins swooped in from all sides, jumping and slaughtering Templars. "About bloody time!" Arnette cried. She stabbed the stolen sword into a fallen man's stomach and ran across to the quarterdeck, leaping over the dead and stabbing enemies who dared to cross her path. A young boy, easily 17 or so years old, caught up with her. He was of finer facial features with a thin, straight nose and a wild mane of blonde hair. He held a very ornate sword and a pair of guns all holstered into a large brown leather belt. "Give it here!" she shouted at him. He threw it all towards her and she caught it, not stopping in her free run to put on belt over the sash.

"Moriyama, come with me!" she ordered a black-haired Assassin as she zipped past more Templars. The man who older than her by a few years, skin slightly sun burnt and eyes blacker than a storm, doubled back and matched her pace. "Jeremy, Paul, Lisbeth, go find prison'rs and bring 'em to me."

Most of the remaining Templars had backed down and surrendered while others jumped ship in a desperate attempt to escape death. A line of crewmen had been forced on their knees and disarmed by the Assassins who held them at gunpoint with rifles and pistols. Things had died down as quickly as they had started.

"Where's Suarez?" Arnette asked Moriyama. He pointed to the quarterdeck, saying he had crushed his knee and tied him to the railing of the ship in Japanese. She walked briskly up the stairs as Moriyama followed, his katana unsheathed and gleaming in the starlight.

Suarez looked up, bloodied and bruised almost beyond recognition. She knelt down to his eye level. "The Apple," she said. He spat blood on her face. She spat back then stepped on his knee. He screamed in pain. "Two can play this game, Templar. One more time: Where. Is. The. Apple?"

He gave her a defiant look, still wincing under the lessened pressure of her boot. "You will never know. It will die with me."

Arnette sighed and rolled her eyes. "It means you don't know. Moriyama!" she called out as she snapped her fingers. He closed in and held his katana across Suarez's throat. The blade was riddled and lined with fresh blood, as was the pearl-white hilt. "Deal with him."

A ship painted deep red bearing snow-white sails caught up with the Spanish ship. A massive eagle with talons and wings outstretched graced the ship as its figurehead. Arnette's _Iron Talon_ was smaller, but it was much faster. Speed, she believed, was better than strength. Not even brute force could ward off a surprise attack in the dark. When the two ships floated next to each other, men and women of the _Iron Talon_ boarded their newly acquired vessel.

A man in his early twenties half-walked, half-jogged towards Arnette. Underneath a mop of tight, black curls were bright blue-green eyes, a strange clash against his naturally tan skin. It seemed Irfan's mother blessed him with her eyes and her button nose, but not much else. She had always admired his good looks, excellent swordplay and sound advice, but never much more than that. "Captain," he said breathily, "The _Iron Talon_ is low on supplies and we're leagues from any port."

"Take what you can from this ship but leave some for us here. I'll be takin' some of them new recruits too."

"Us?"

"Are you deaf, Irfan? Yeah, us. Now go!" she barked. He was a good lad from a family of sailors and pirates but sometimes rather stubborn. "And someone get me my bloody hat and coat!"

Moriyama silently stalked next to Arnette. "What do you intend to do with this ship, Captain?" he questioned, this time in English.

She stared out upon the deck, seeing men and women moving supplies and new recruits from this ship to hers. The dead bodies were dumped unceremoniously into the ocean, but not before being looted and taking their weapons. Eagles soared over the two ships, sometimes landing, sometimes diving to hunt.

"Repaint her and call her mine, what else?"

"And what then, Captain?"

She strode idly on the deck, Moriyama following a few steps behind her. She ran her fingers over the railing, painted a chocolate brown like the rest of the ship. "We'll paint 'er black, call 'er _Storm of the Night_. Ye there. Burn the flag, we fly without colors."

Arnette turned to look at him. His jet-black hair was slicked back into a short ponytail, tied by a burgundy ribbon. Like her, he wore white and black with hints of red. "Aye, _Storm of the Night_ suits ya."

He gave her a quizzical look. "Captain?"

A young girl ran up to Arnette, holding a hat with a long, white peacock feather tucked into a red ribbon and a white folded coat. She took the hat and Moriyama took the coat, excusing the girl. The hat at the front was cut into a sharp triangle of sorts. The tip was lined with ornate metal and weighed it down to create a dramatic dip. It cast long dark shadows upon Arnette's face, concealing most of her features save for her lips. With Moriyama's help, she slipped into the pure white coat, the inside covered with red silk. Each pewter button was etched with the mark of the Assassin.

"Do you 'member what ya said t'me when I freed you from the Portuguese?" she asked as she adjusted her hat.

"I said I promised my sword and my skills to you and the Assassins."

"For a price."

He hesitated. "Yes. You promised me revenge."

"That I did. I was a pirate 'fore I was an Assassin, but an honest pirate. As honest as ya can get anyway. As I am both pirate and Assassin, I don't take m'promises lightly." 

She fixed the collar of her coat as she turned on her heel. "Listen up and listen hard and good!" Arnette shouted. "First port we get to, we're repaintin' this ship and resupplyin' her and _Iron Talon._ From this night on, this ship's name _Storm of the Night_ and under the command of Kaito Moriyama. We'll sell what we can then make for Portugal. What say ya, m'brothers and sisters?"

The Assassins shouted raucously. Swords and rifles gleamed in the moonlight as they pumped in celebration.

Arnette turned to face Moriyama once more. "We'll be needin' a white coat and a hat for ya. Think it's high time I made good on said promise, ey?"


End file.
